


Ilosovic

by 1stAmndmntGirl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:51:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1stAmndmntGirl/pseuds/1stAmndmntGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any sort of summary would ruin the surprise, so just read if you have a preference for the unnatural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ilosovic

            Her footsteps were light on the dew-damp turf, and her long dress swung around her bare ankles, swishing demurely, as if this night had been choreographed and put to practice a thousand times before. Her white shock of hair danced in the slight breeze, falling around her waist when the wind died. Naked feet made much less sound than the boots she had debated on, and since she was one for theatrics, this decision made much more sense in her mind. Logic was irrelevant at a time such as this.

            The chill in the night air was noticeable, but she hardly felt her soft flesh breaking out in goose bumps, nor did she see her breath hang in the air before her. She knew only her heartbeat pumping in her ears, her tool kit wrapped around her wrist, her destination ahead, and her goal. Her gown was thin, designed for a warm spring day rather than the last night of February frost, but the thought of wearing something more weather-appropriate never crossed her one-track mind.

            She reached the gate and after checking to see if anyone was around, she swung it open with her free hand, leaving a nine inch gap. The hinges shrieked as if her action was more than the most severe form of torture. Her hand froze, her numb fingertips immobile on the frigid, rusted iron.

            Waiting silently in the night, her large green eyes flickered around, searching for a guard, a policeman, anyone who would point to her with a flashlight and shout, "Stop right there!" Her heart pounded like she had run a two minute mile and the queasy feeling in her gut made her consider the possibility of this idea being a mistake.

            There was no one.

            She dared not to even nudge the gate for fear of it sounding its rusty alarm again and waking an unseen sleeping sentry. She knew she was being paranoid, but she had good reason.

            Her confidence renewed by the still and silent night, she slipped her tall and previously-slim dancer's body in the small gap between the gates, exhaling deeply so as to fit her belly. It bumped the gate open another six inches, but there was no high womanly scream from the century-old hinges this time. It was as if the gate had acknowledged her presence and goal, and silently approved it. She clutched her knapsack close to her hip so as not to bang it on the metal, and in just a few seconds, she was in.

            She veered away from the main walkway, for she was sure to be caught if she followed its route. Instead, she treaded on the brumal and soggy grass in the shadows, the light near the gate casting a ghoulish shadow of her once-lithe figure amidst the grasping and groping leafless trees.

            Her hip-length white hair was curled to perfection so as to fit her theatrical appearance. It was hardly discernible from her once-spotless altered white gown unless you got close enough to see her pale green irises. She only wore a white gold ring with a solitary diamond encrusted in the band in addition to her dress. If someone had seen her slipping through the trees in such a state, they'd think her a ghost.

            The gown was a bold choice to wear at night, and had it been a full, bloated moon, she would have been easily visible from anyplace with a view. But the moon was new and hidden by the heavy storm clouds, so she was sheathed in the darkness, only given away by the occasional bolt of lightning flashing up the sky.

            Her knapsack's strap was wound around her left wrist so as to prevent it from falling and becoming lost in the night. The tools inside were wrapped in hand towels so they would not ting and clang as she walked.

            As she passed a granite statue of a child wrapped snugly in an angel's arms, a rabbit darted out and into her path, shocking her into slipping on the slick grama and falling backwards, hitting the side of her head on the sharp corner of the base. She kept herself from crying out as the pain shot through her skull, though barely. She bit through her lip and tasted the hot and coppery blood on the tip of her tongue. Her shaking, empty right hand rose up and felt her new wound. The fingers that came away were also soaked in her own life's blood, shiny and almost black in the faint starless light.

            Whimpering, she wiped off the blood on the dewy grass, not minding when it sprung up at her as if angry she was trespassing on it in the dead of night. She leaned over and spat out a mouthful of warm blood and pooling saliva. She spat a few more times until she only had a faint taste left in her mouth, though if she looked in a mirror, she would have seen that it had dribbled through the hole in her full bottom lip and down her chin, staining a spot on the bosom of her strapless dress, adding to the hour-old spatter that was already drying a dark crimson-brown.

            She stood slowly, making sure she didn't pass out. Her head throbbed as if she had the world's worst migraine and her vision blurred. She steadied herself on the angel's shoulder before she continued on.

            She walked slower, treading safely on the dangerously slick verdure as she wove her way to her destination. Her thoughts were repetitive and her mind's eye saw nothing but her goal. She nimbly danced around the strategically placed objects that filled the area, even avoiding the carefully placed trinkets and flowers.

            Keeping to her hidden path in the trees, she finally came upon the place she'd dreamed of for the better half of a month. Everything was as she saw it, though the roses she'd laid on that dark day were as dead and decayed as the corpse buried under the ground they rested on.

            She unwrapped the strap from around her wrist and knelt down on the sodden, algid dirt to hug the headstone. The etched letters read his favorite phrase, though beautifully versed in Latin. Her bloody lips kissed the headstone. Her frightfully alive green eyes brimmed with tears as she read:

 

                                                             Ilosovic Reiaht

                                                   Beloved Son and Husband

                                                            9.10.87 - 8.13.11

                                                                 _Carpe diem_

            She unzipped the knapsack and unwrapped the shovel. Testing the ground with the palm of her hand, she found that it gave just a bit. Even if it had been frozen solid, she would have kept on her path, for she was blinded by anger, love, and the same determination that had led dance critics to claim her the Pavlova of her generation before she became pregnant.

            Obsession pulsing through her veins, she pierced the sod with the sharp tip of her short garden shovel. It gave easily, allowing her to push on without delay. The second thrust was easier, and she soon got into the routine of dig, toss, dig, toss.

            Her head throbbed dully as she worked, and her muscles soon ached. She was not but a foot down when she cried out, a sharp pain in her lower back making her freeze up. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, she counted up to seventeen before it fell away as suddenly as it arrived.

            She resumed her shoveling, for she had no time to lollygag. It was well past midnight, and the groundskeeper was to arrive at six in the morning. She had a busy night ahead.

            As she delved further into the earth, she felt the inscription on the wedding band she wore flare up, burning the skin under the ring. She dropped the shovel and twisted the ring off her finger, peering at the unburned skin in the faint light, confused and sure of how right her plan was at the same time.

            She ran the tip of her index finger along the inscription inside the ring, her eyes closed as her lips mouthed the words  _To my love Janette from Ilosovic_ just as they were etched. One of her unshed tears broke off, too swollen and impatient to wait, and trickled down her filthy cheek.

            Slipping the ring back on, she resumed her hard labor. Even the minor muscle cramps could not stop her from her work. She drilled as quickly as she could, whispering his name over and over as she wept silently.

            The coal-black storm clouds above her grew more dense and pregnant as the next two hours passed, and the woman beneath slaved away in absolute darkness other than flashes of lightning illuminating the sky with purple-white brilliance. Eventually, they could hold back no more and the skies opened up, not slowly, but in the blink of an eye.

            She was soon drenched in icy rain, her skin steaming from the temperature difference at first, but soon she was entirely numb, other than the occasional muscle cramp. Panting hard, she reached the lower layers of earth, and found them more stubborn than the top. The ground had more time to settle here and was tightly packed.

           The soft skin of her hands was encased in lacerated and bleeding blisters. Her previously manicured nails were chipped and bleeding with one hanging by a bare bit of cuticle. Her long mane of glossy salon-perfect hair was a muddy, bloody mess. Makeup so beautifully and professionally done was smeared with mud and blood and streaking down her face.

            Still on her knees, she burrowed further, her method slightly haphazard. She would bore into the ground directly in front of the headstone, then change her tune and turn around, working on the ground behind her. She would make shallow holes in some spots, but tunnel more than a foot in others before eliminating the ground in between the two.

            Wishing she had a watch, she struggled to keep the water out of her area of excavation. Four feet down with a foot of water wasn't doing well for her. She was having a hard time of her work, and her body was so numb she wasn't even aware she was covered in bruises and cuts. She didn't even know how bad her hands were though the freshly peeled and bleeding skin was pierced with hundreds of splinters from her cheap shovel.

            The muscle cramps worsened as she got deeper and increased in number as time passed. She was nearly five feet down at this point, and the water was more than eighteen inches high. If the rain didn't let up, she might not be able to even get out of her hole, let alone hoist a body up with her.

            Her gown was a disaster. Covered in muck, grass, the woman's blood and her own, not to mention the mess from her water breaking a bit ago. Once appearing a graceful and parturient ghost, she now looked like what she was: a pregnant, grave-digging murderer.

            The thunder was deafening, and alongside her heartbeat thumping in her ears, she could not make out her screams as the contractions wracked her body. Anyone passing alongside the sidewalk of the cemetery would become aware of indistinct howls, as if the residents were crying from their graves and would hurry along, telling themselves they didn't hear a thing, but would get about their business much quicker nonetheless. Not a living soul strolled by, though, for it was much too late for sane persons to be out and about.  

            Working frantically, she thrust her shovel into the earth once more, ignoring the splash of murky water stinging her eyes. She prayed as she dove it down that this would be it; that this last bit would be the end of it.

            Her prayer must have been heard, for that same push of her shovel hit something hard enough to make a clunk that shot a tremor up her goose bump-ridden arms. Crying out with joy, she threw the dull shovel aside and used her hands to get to her prize.

            Making out the lid of a coffin, she sobbed with joy as her hard efforts paid off. She reached up and out of the fresh grave for her toolkit, and found the hooks and straps used for securing a boat on its trailer, though she had two of them and was hitching them up to a coffin and tombstones rather than a boat and trailer.

            She hooked each side of the coffin up and clumsily climbed out of the trench, almost slipping back in at the last minute but grasped for his headstone, allowing her to pull herself up.

            With the lengths of straps and the reels in hand, she wound the chain attached to the reel around Ilosovic's tombstone, securing it tightly. She went to the closest headstone to the foot of the grave and did the same there, but this time, she started cranking the reel, pulling the coffin up.

            Once she got a good portion done on that side, she hurried to the other, taking care not to slip again. She cranked the reel hard as she peered in the dark and watery hole, taking notice that the coffin was now loosened from the mud surrounding it and was beginning to rise.       

            She traveled between the two headstones, winding up the reels as far as they would allow before rushing to the other. She hardly noticed that her contractions were less than three minutes apart now.

            Soon enough, the coffin was floating on the water. She had cranked the reels as far as she could, and now she could enjoy the spoils of her efforts.

            She got on her knees, and with her swollen belly pressing on the ground, she reached into the grave and opened the coffin, exposing her dead lover.

            Though his body was still preserved by formaldehyde, Ilosovic was decaying and reeked of rotting flesh. Gagging at first from the stench, she soon welcomed it as she stared into the closed eyes of her former lover, his hair brushed back in that classic nineteen-forties style she loved, his lips as full and pale as they were when he was alive, if not more so. He was a man who made even death look attractive and glamorous.

            Hanging over his grave, she looked like an escapee from a mental hospital for the criminally insane. Her eyes were effulgent in the darkness, and her smile was wide and frightening, for her lips were covered in her own blood from reopening the new wounds while she dug. "Here I am Ilosovic. It's Reilii Von Halzen, the woman you left eight months pregnant with your child for your wife." she spat, her eyes blazing with hatred. "Not that she's your little wifey anymore. I took care of her like I took care of you, you bastard. That's right. Your poor little Janette won't be mourning your loss anymore. I told her everything before I pushed her down and slit her throat like a pig."

            Reilii shoved her hand down in view of the corpse and flashed the wedding band she wore. As she held her hand out, the pouring rain cleansed her skin of the muck, leaving it ghost-white and glowing in the faint hours of the morning. "See? I even took the ring off her finger as she breathed her last breath. I told you that you would never leave me." she sneered, the last word taking on a soprano octave as a heavy contraction hit.

            She tensed and tried to breathe properly like the doctor had instructed, but it was of no use. This baby was coming, and it was going to be coming very soon. She needed to get out of the cemetery fast, but the idea of leaving his corpse was never in the equation.

            "Time for talking's done, Ilo. This child you put in me is nearly here, so I need to get you to my car so I can have our baby at home. I have my basement set up with a tub so we can do a water birth just like we wanted. I even brought your favorite La-Z Boy down so you could watch." She paused and added as an afterthought, "His name will be Roman."

            Reaching down into the grave to hoist him up, Reilii put too much weight on the edge of the muddy shelf and it gave, tossing her into the coffin. She screamed shrilly as she tumbled in and grasped for purchase, finding nothing but the coffin lid which slammed down when she pulled it, breaking three of her fingers. She howled in pain as she yanked them inside the coffin with her, sealing herself into the darkness.

            The weight of Reilii falling into the coffin was too much for the tombstones, and they both gave, the one at the foot falling and allowing the chain to slide off the slick marble, and the other at the head tumbling down into the water-filled grave, sinking the coffin under three feet of water and mud as well as the three-hundred pound stone.

            Reilii squirmed and screamed and bashed the coffin lid with her small and gored fists, but the door wouldn't give. "Let me out! Get me out of here!" she ululated to no one. Even if she hadn't been alone in that graveyard, and even if the thunder hadn't been so loud that it rattled windows, the water and muck would have still stifled her voice, now shrill and hoarse from hours of shouting and raw with the beginning of a good case of strep throat.

            Another wave of contractions hit and her back arched, whapping Reilii's belly into the coffin. She dug her remaining nails into her palms so hard that the blistered, peeling, and pruned flesh gave, allowing her to slice into the muscle.

            She fell back onto Ilosovic's corpse, exhausted by the effort and racked with pain. She closed her eyes as another contraction hit her. This one was it. This baby was going to happen right now whether she was buried alive in the coffin or not.

            Reilii pushed and wailed like a banshee, giving all of her effort to just get this over with. It took a few tries, but soon enough, she did it. She felt a sharp pain and then it just seemed so easy. Fumbling around in the dark, she felt where it was and grasped for it, though there wasn't much room. Bringing her child up to her head, she listened for any breathing or crying. It was doing neither.

            Worried and attacked by some form of motherly instinct, she patted its back and tried to do chest compressions, but it was no use. She felt around its neck and found the umbilical cord wound tight. Reilii loosened it quickly, but it was useless. In her hysterical efforts to revive her love to complete her "family" she had given a death sentence the only thing she had left of her beloved Ilo: their son.

            Her sanity--already stretched thin by the break-up with Ilosovic, murdering him, the weight of the pregnancy, and the murder of Ilosovic's wife--broke and Reilii lost it. She started shrieking and attacking the coffin with an unexpected fury of adrenaline, her nails snapping on the heavy wood and her fingers eventually breaking in the effort to claw her way out. It was to no avail. The coffin would not give.

            Turning on herself, she grabbed Ilosovic's hand and used his nails to shred her throat. She sliced her carotid artery, which jetted up to the lid and splashed back on her. She laid back with her baby in her arms and felt the world go black.

            As her last breath left her lips, she murmured, "Ilosovic." 


End file.
